


Maybe This Time

by paintitb1ack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: In which Lucifer's kid Jack is actually decent and helps Sam and Dean connect.Holy fuck, how cool would it be if the writers actually decided to progress the brothers' relationship and let them talk about shit that's been hounding Sam since season 5? It's almost like, if they knew about Sam's trauma, it would be easier for them to work things out! Woah! Golly gee! Who'd have thought!





	Maybe This Time

_Jack isn’t evil._

Sam takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair. He’s repeated that sentence to himself at least a dozen times a day for the last three months. His reasoning is, if he can thoroughly convince himself, maybe he’ll be able to convince Dean as well.

Since Cas’ death, Sam, Dean, and Jack have been bouncing from motel to motel, jumping to investigate the slightest bit of possible supernatural activity. So far they’ve taken out a vampire nest, three unruly werewolves, and two demons vying for Hell’s now-empty throne. Unfortunately, however, there’s been no sign of anything capable of transporting them back to the alternate universe.

And it’s not like they haven’t done their research. Every afternoon and evening, while Lucifer’s reluctant but surprisingly subdued child went out to fetch them some food, the two brothers scoured various books and websites. But they never came up with more than a couple of conspiracy theories with trails that quickly fizzled out. 

The clock glares neon-red, and Sam groans quietly as he looks away from the illuminated _3:56 AM_. He should have been asleep for hours now, tucked beneath threadbare sheets, back pressed up against his brother’s torso, Dean’s arm wrapped around his chest. But since he’s vacated his side of the bed, the older man is now sprawled across the mattress, snoring loud enough to wake every other guest, if not the entire town. 

Jack, on the other hand, doesn’t need sleep. But knowing how much it skeeves the brothers out to see his pale shape and yellow eyes when they get up to pee, the nephilim lies down on the other bed and faces the wall, staring into the darkness until it’s time to get up. 

But he’s not the only one unable to sleep.

The night they took Jack in, Sam suddenly found himself plagued by terrible dreams. He never remembers much; the only memories that manage to cling to his mind are those of an infuriated Lucifer stepping over Dean’s mutilated body and using one blood-soaked hand to grab Sam by the throat. The archangel leans in, lips ghosting across his boy’s mouth as he murmurs, **_Thanks for the help, sweetheart, but I’ll take it from here._** Then he pulls Jack free of Sam’s grip, leaving the hunter alive but alone as he vanishes with his son. 

Three months of the same nightmare on loop is too much for him to handle. So, for the past four days, he’s remained awake, only feigning sleep until Dean dozes off. Then he ingests two pots of coffee and waits for the sun to peek through the shades. Fortunately, his brother rarely questions why he’s up so early. _Un_ fortunately, this lack of sleep has begun driving him towards the lip of another bout with his hallucinations. He’s not reached that point yet, but another twelve hours and he will be.

The floor creaks behind him, and Sam jumps.

“Sorry,” a soft voice says. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Jack.” Scratching at his chest, the younger Winchester looks up.

The nephilim is standing a few feet away, a curious gold trying to connect with the man’s green.

But Sam’s eyes won’t stay still; they can’t. They flick all about Jack’s body, unable catch his gaze for more than half a moment.

“Can I help?” Jack asks, almost eagerly holding out one hand. Since they met, the younger hunter has not allowed the two of them to have any physical contact and, with the nephilim’s abilities being nearly as powerful as his dad’s, Jack’s wanted more than anything to understand why Sam is so adamant about keeping his distance. Yes, he _is_ capable of helping him fall asleep, but he’s also capable of sifting through any memories the man may have swimming below the surface. All Jack has to do is touch him.

Leaning away, Sam says, “I don’t, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please.”

The hunter blinks, fingers tugging at his flannel. If he doesn’t sleep soon, Dean is going to notice, which means they’ll end up having a conversation about things Sam really does not want to talk about. So, against his better judgement, he nods.

Smiling in anticipation, Jack takes a deep breath. Then he presses two fingers against the side of Sam’s head.

It’s barely been two seconds before the nephilim suddenly screeches and pulls away, yellow eyes wide with horror. 

The brief feeling of calm stripped away from him, Sam gasps out a strained “Jack?”

Hands raised, Jack takes a few breaths before asking, “What did he do to you?”

“Who?”

“M-my dad.”

Chair skidding across the floor, Sam gets to his feet. “How did, how did you—” He barely feels himself digging his nails into his skin. “Why?”

The nephilim is shaking his head. “No,” he says. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t.”_

Feeling Dean slide up beside him, the younger man grabs at his brother’s arm.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asks. His words are more of a threat than anything else, and they are directed entirely at Jack.

“N-nothing.” Sam voice is shaking, but still he repeats, “Nothing.”

Jack tucks his hands inside his sleeves. “Sam—“

“Look,” the younger hunter interrupts. “Okay, okay, yes. Yes, what you saw…” The muscle in his neck tightens as he tries to find a way to explain.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” the nephilim says quietly, his statement affirmed when Sam finally manages a small nod.

Dean, giving his brother a gentle elbow nudge, asks, _“What’s_ true?”

Jack looks from one hunter to the other, eventually allowing his gaze to rest on Sam. “You want me to show him?”

The younger Winchester slides his hand down and over his brother’s wrist, firmly locking their fingers together. A part of him has always wanted to tell Dean what happened, but his fear of being shamed or having his experience be made into a joke has kept him from ever saying anything. Besides, even if he _was_ going to share, he’d need time to make a plan. 

The worst thing would be if he was forced to reveal everything on the spot; unfortunately for the younger Winchester, that’s exactly what’s happening.

Both his brother and the child of his rapist are standing in his space, waiting for some sort of explanation, waiting for him to clear up what Dean does not understand and Jack does not believe. 

Sam looks down at the nephilim and nods. “Do it,” he manages. “I need… I need him to know.”

Not nearly as excited as before, Jack grimaces as he raises both hands. “You ready?” He asks the older hunter.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Ready for wh—“ he starts, but his voice is stolen the moment the nephilim’s fingers touch his skin.

Sam feels his lids grow heavy as consciousness is pried from his grip, and it’s just as he’s nearly enveloped in darkness that he hears Dean’s first horror-stricken cry. 

 _i’m sorry,_ the boy tries, but he’s already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> All aboard the "let the boys talk about Sam's trauma, you fucks" train.


End file.
